


85340985

by neonsign



Category: Persona 3
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:25:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonsign/pseuds/neonsign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two stared at each other until Minato averted his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets. Some part of him wanted Bebe to be miserable because then he wouldn’t be the only one. Just by existing, Bebe proved bad things about him. Bebe could see the light side of things, even at their worst. Minato couldn’t, even at their best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	85340985

**Author's Note:**

> a rewrite of something previously posted

In some ways, things kept changing; in others, they were exactly the same. Minato returned to the city he was born in ten years after his parents died there and none of it was familiar. Time had worn away his memories and construction had altered the rest. All his childhood friends must’ve ended up in other high schools, because the only faces he found himself surrounded by were those of strangers. Not that that was different from any other city, but that was the point: Iwatodai _should_ have been different. It was just as hollow as everything else.

That hollowness felt like proof of something. If Iwatodai was the same, everything else always would be, too.

And yet, knowing it was a stupid thing to do, some part of Minato kept trying to reach out and find an anchor. Going through the motions, acting like he was still capable of caring about things he liked. The sports he used to play, the art he used to create. Some pointless, half-baked search for happiness, and it somehow led him to the goldmine.

“Tartiflette,” Bebe said, resting his chin on his hand. He smiled lazily across the fashion room’s table. “Such a simple dish, I was not expecting to miss it. Japan has much delicious food but nothing that compares. My Aunt Inés always used to make me tartiflette.”

Bebe was usually a fountain of simple delight, but right then there was a melancholy Minato had never seen on his face and in his voice. Feeding material into his sewing machine, he stared, at a complete loss for words. When they first met, Bebe’s constant cheerfulness had grated like nails on a chalkboard. It felt fake. There was no way someone could be so happy all the time and Minato was having his face rubbed in it.

Seeing him even slightly upset, Minato wanted it back.

But Bebe’s aunt was gone and he knew the hurt of loss. Everything everyone had ever said to him after his parents died kept replaying in his head. ‘They were in a better place,’ as if there was somewhere better for them than being with their son. Giving their condolences as if he wanted them. Calling him brave and strong, as if it took anything at all to be empty and numb.

“Why not just make your own?” Minato looked back down at the pajama pants he was hemming. Only then did he notice he’d been going more and more toward the fold rather than the lip of the fabric. He tried altering its course, leaving him with a wavy seam. “It’s just food.”

Bebe’s face fell. He looked to the side, toying with his fan. He wasn’t getting it and Minato wasn’t explaining properly. Reducing everything made coping easier; memories were only things that happened, belongings left behind were only objects. Removing yourself entirely was easiest.

But if he did that, Bebe would end up like him. Bebe wouldn’t be Bebe.

“Hey,” Minato said, “I’m not a great cook or anything, but what if –”

A grinding, awful noise, and the material bunched up under the scary and pointy bits of the machine. Minato quickly pulled his hands away, lifting his foot of the pedal and shoving his stool back.

There was a small silence afterwards, and then Bebe was laughing behind his fan. Minato looked at him with wide eyes.

“Ah – sorry, sorry. It’s not you I laugh at.” Bebe put his fan down, got to his feet, and walked over to flip some lever on the side. Carefully, he moved the leg of the pants out from under the needle.

Minato caught his eye and gave him a doubtful look.

“Well, maybe,” Bebe admitted with a guilty grin. “Simply, I did the same thing many times when I started. You remind me of days passed.”

“You talk like an old man.” Minato massaged his hands, checking each finger to make sure he hadn’t sewn anything he shouldn't have. “You’ve… been doing this a long time, huh?”

“Years,” Bebe said fondly. “Other children, they teased me for it when I was young. Said the most awful things. I am not from a wealthy family, yet they accused me of acting as such. Snobby, they called me. Accused me of thinking I was too good for their games. While they played in the rivers and mud, I was reading fashion magazines. Hours I spent looking at the clothes.”

Bebe crouched down and started fiddling with Minato’s machine, checking tension and – other things Minato had long since forgotten the purpose of. With Bebe’s attention focused elsewhere, Minato was able to stare openly. He watched Bebe’s heavily lidded, downturned eyes. Sad eyes, but they never looked sad. Thick eyelashes, the same blond as his hair.

“When I was a kid…” Minato started quietly. He hadn’t planned on talking, but now words were slipping from him. “For me, it was photography. Used to spend my allowance on these disposable cameras and I took pictures of everything. Just – stupid things. Other kids called me a stalker. I didn’t talk much, so… I guess I was kinda creepy.”

Minato forced a laugh, even though the memory wasn’t a funny one. As he’d spoken, Bebe had stopped what he was doing and now sat on his haunches, staring up at Minato intently.

“I’m just saying, you know, that I get it.”

Bebe stared for another moment more before standing.

“Then you understand, of course, that the days I was teased are the days Aunt Inés made me tartiflette. The only thing she was good at cooking, she always said.” He smiled and Minato only looked back at him, face blank. “And look at you now: a talented photographer.”

Whatever his face was doing, however happy and calm he looked, Bebe kept wringing his hands and it gave him away.

“Good things come of hard times. We have to believe that.”

Minato chewed his lip. He’d heard that plenty of times as well, just after his parents died.

“Do you really believe that? Sometimes bad things just happen. They don’t make us better or stronger. Sometimes we end up worse for it.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps the bad makes the good even better.”

“Why’re you -?” Even as Minato’s self-hatred and disgust grew, irritation won out. It was pathetic to argue about this with someone who just lost family, but he couldn’t stop himself. “That’s – that’s just trying to find a light in the dark.”

Bebe ran a hand up and down his arm. “Is there something wrong with that?”

The two stared at each other until Minato averted his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets. Some part of him wanted Bebe to be miserable because then he wouldn’t be the only one. Just by existing, Bebe proved bad things about him. Bebe could see the light side of things, even at their worst. Minato couldn’t, even at their best. 

He wanted him happy, he wanted him sad. Minato didn’t know what the hell he wanted. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

Something touched the top of his head and his heart gave a lurch like he’d missed a step going downstairs. Bebe’s hand was as gentle as he would have expected.

“Living takes bravery no matter what,” Bebe said softly, fingers toying idly with Minato’s hair. “You think because I smile that I do not see the pain in it. You are very presumptuous, Minato, confusing positivity for naiveté. You miss some very obvious things. Like… living in the darkness, and when you find light, it sears your eyes and blinds you.”

Minato bowed his head, closing his eyes and leaning into Bebe’s touch.

“Eloquent,” he said. “You’re a poet now?”

“You act like detachment makes you superior. It does not.”

“I know that, I just… I don’t understand you,” Minato murmured. “Even your name…”

“What of my name?”

“Your nickname. People only call you Bebe because they can’t be bothered to try and pronounce your real name. That doesn’t bug you?”

“Why would it?”

Minato frowned. “It’s like they’re making fun of you. Saying you’re not worth the effort.”

“There is no such cruel intent behind it. I have difficulties with some of their names as well; that is bound to happen. Also, my name _is_ very long.” There was an audible smile in Bebe’s voice. “No, I do not mind. They gave me something all my own. Another treasure from this country.”

Minato huffed and the hand fell away. Under the pretence of fixing his hair, he touched where it had lay, a little surprised that it was slightly warm. He stared absently at the floor. Bebe wasn’t getting this, either. They were never going to be on the same page about anything.

“You use the nickname,” Bebe added softly. “Are you doing so maliciously?”

“The intent doesn’t have to be malicious to be – that’s – I’m only doing it because everyone else does. If you’d told me not to, I would’ve stopped.”

Bebe looked at him, tilting his head as he leaned back against the table. He wasn’t smiling anymore but something about his face looked amused.

“Say my name.”

“What?”

Bebe waited.

“Andre Laur-uh… Laurent Jean Geraux,” Minato said, trying his hardest to mimic his accent and powering through purely to prove him wrong. “Andre Laurent. It’s not that hard. If they cared, they would try. That’s all I’m saying.”

Bebe stared at him for a moment, lips parted and corners quirked.

“A little long, no?”

“Andre, then,” Minato shrugged. “That’s all it has t-to –”

Bebe pushed away from the table, stepped closer, and it never really occurred to him before, but he was quite tall. With Minato sitting on the stool, it was even more impressive.

“I have not been called that name since I came here,” Andre – Bebe said fondly, his voice deeper and calmer than Minato had ever heard it. “The nickname makes it more… If it was your intention to make me hate it, I think you had the opposite effect.”

Hesitantly, he raised a hand and brushed his index knuckle against Minato’s cheek, causing his heart to skip painfully.

Everything had changed pace so quickly, Minato was lost, floating outside himself. They went from talking about death to this, with Minato’s heart beating hard, painfully alive. The same Bebe that gushed about Japan all the way to the Sweet Shop was the same Andre now brushing a thumb against his bottom lip. It had to be a French thing.

“You –” Minato’s voice wavered and cracked. He cleared his throat and jerked his head to the side, pulling away from Andre’s hand. “You really like everyone using it? It doesn’t make you even a little mad?”

After a moment spent frozen, Andre shook his head slowly, letting his hand fall to his side where he flexed his fingers. “I like it. But I think I like when you don’t even more.”

Minato tried forcing a derisive laugh, but it only came out as nervous. “What does it matter? It’s just a name.”

“Oh? That’s not what you were just telling me.”

“Well – I mean, names are names, but when there’s – the meaning is –”

“I'm teasing,” Andre smiled gently. “Relax.”

Again, Minato tried laughing. He sounded like a frantic idiot and his heart was racing for no reason. This whole thing was so stupid. He was just trying to get Andre to stand up for himself but it got turned around. Blindsided, probably because he was still thinking of Andre as naïve.

“You’re pretty sneaky,” Minato said, smiling at the floor.

His heart was already beginning to slow down now that he knew he was being teased, but there was still something making him uneasy. Irritated. Andre should’ve been more careful. He was so friendly, it was easy to misinterpret things like that and now Minato was all worked up for nothing.

“Why am I sneaky?”

Minato stared at the floor, the forced smile long since gone from his face. Absently, he touched his cheek. Clubs would be over soon, but not soon enough; he already wanted to go home. To the dorm. ‘Home.’ Just a dorm.

“Minato-sama?”

“You know, while we’re on the subject,” he said coldly, “you can drop the whole -sama thing.”

“You are alright with such familiarity?”

“No, I meant –” Minato glared at Andre’s legs. He’d mean just -san was fine, but, “Sure. Whatever you want.”

“Have I done something to anger you?”

It was stupid. It was all so goddamn stupid. Getting all torn just because of some guy’s casual touch, a couple words, and a bit of cultural misinterpretation. There was no need to take it out on someone else; it was his own fault. He was always doing that, being fucking unpleasant as if anything was anyone’s fault but his own. Of course kindness in contrast to that was going to seem like so much more.

“I’m just tired. Don’t worry about it.” Minato hesitated, grinding the heel of his palm into his eye, and added a quiet, “Sorry.”

“Um…”

Hesitation sounded bizarre coming from Andre. Minato looked up and found him wringing his hands again.

“I understand I come on very strongly,” he said. “If this is ever too much or I – do something you do not like, you must tell me. I will not take offense.”

“That’s…”

“My family is always telling me the same,” Andre said, laughing a little. “‘Andre Laurent,’ they say, ‘you must not be so overbearing, you must relax. Wherever are your manners?’ I must be worse now because you are my closest friend; you receive the brunt of everything I am. I apologize.”

A sharp breath of defeat left Minato and his shoulders slumped. Guilt, he supposed, was what he felt. Pity was just as likely.

“Don’t apologize,” he said softly. “It’s good to be that way.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.”

“Surprising. I always think you must get annoyed with me. It is always me talking, me asking to hang out. I figured I must be taking advantage of your kindness.”

Kind wasn’t something Minato had been called in recent memory, if ever, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to it. But that was Andre for you. Always seeing the best in everything.

Minato rubbed the back of his neck, eyes on the floor. “If I didn’t wanna be here, I wouldn’t be.”

Andre smiled, wide and natural, and it felt like so long since Minato had seen that overabundance of happiness, but a weight sat on his chest and prevented him from being enjoying it. If anything, he figured it would be Andre that was sick of him. Dealing with constant negativity must’ve been exhausting and there was really nothing else he brought to the table.

Minato watched as Andre walked away, back to where his bag sat on the floor, and started gathering his things, cleaning up his machine and putting away his progress on his kimono. As soon as the smile left his face, it fell into unfamiliarly sad lines – or it was just neutral and Minato was projecting, he couldn’t tell. But he thought he might have an idea.

“Hey.”

Andre looked over his shoulder. “Minato?”

“You, uh… you know, you don’t have to force yourself.”

Andre straightened up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I get what you’re doing and why, but… you don’t owe anyone anything; you don’t have to pretend for their sakes. It’s okay to let yourself be sad. Um…” Minato scratched his temple, averting his eyes. Andre just wouldn’t stop staring. “Anyway, if you’re worried about dragging someone down with you or whatever, then… you can talk to me. I doubt it’s possible for me to sink any lower,” he half-laughed. “I just – I’m here. That’s all.”

Andre kept staring and staring. Feeling restless, Minato got to his feet and brushed off the front of his uniform, following suit and cleaning up his own station. His words kept repeating and repeating in his head and it was so awkward. Such a stupid fucking thing to say. Stupid enough to achieve the impossible and strike Andre speechless.

As much as things had changed since the last time he lived in this city, it was good to see he was just as bad with people as ever. He was still that little creep with a camera that didn’t know how to connect to the other kids because they were normal, they had normal families, and getting close to people made him feel like shit, being alone made him feel like shit, and nothing was ever good.

Andre was good, but now he was going to be too creeped out to want to hang out with Minato anymore. In some ways, things really were exactly the same.

“You really are very clueless sometimes, Minato.” Andre’s eyes were on his fan, sitting on the table. He ran his fingers over it, smiling gently. “Blind, as I said. How fortunate that it’s endearing, no?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you mean a great deal to me and you cannot see it. I consider you a dear friend and have already been doing all that. I’m not forcing myself; being around you is calming and everything else is me, as I am. I really am this happy. Would you change that?”

“What? Of course not. I’m just saying, you’re allowed to be sad. It’s something every human feels. Even _you’re_ not that happy.”

“Well… thank you. And I hope you know the same goes for you. There is no need for such modesty. As you say: anything you have to say, you can say to me. Do you understand?”

Minato nodded, looking down at his hands as he picked at his nails.

Despite what he’d felt speaking his mind, it wasn’t as embarrassing as it should’ve been to hear all that; somewhere along the line, he really had started getting used to Andre.

Or maybe it was just easier to receive than to give. To stay silent rather than speak up and put yourself on the line. That was a taste of what it was like to be Andre, then. He really was admirable. Brave.

Feeling terrified but also somehow light and airy, Minato took a deep breath.

“I just thought I should let you know,” he said. “You were saying that stuff about being overbearing and I know I’m not… reassuring, I guess. I probably haven’t been forthcoming about how much I, uh… like having you around.”

Andre smiled and all that shyness hit him like it had only been delayed. With trembling hands, Minato went back to cleaning up his station.

Somewhere in the back of his head had been the idea of being completely honest about how he had started thinking of Andre as something other than a friend, but he felt this sick and shaky just telling him that he enjoyed his company. Confessing was a long ways off. Not to mention everything with his aunt; he probably wasn’t in the best headspace. The most Minato could do was just stay with him, and then… and then what?

Between everything with SEES and then not knowing when he was going to get a phone call from his caretaker saying they weren’t going to pay for another year at Gekkoukan, that it was time for him to move again, and Andre’s uncle that kept trying to convince him to return to France…

Minato toyed with his backpack’s clasp, staring at nothing for so long that his eyes slid out of focus.

It wouldn’t last forever. Nothing did. Actions in the meantime could make it worse in the end. Staying silent, like he had been for years, would be easiest.

But he kept remembering that light feeling in his chest and Andre’s smile and there really wasn’t anything like it he’d ever felt before.

“Andre.”

Minato turned around and what little confidence he had almost disappeared when Andre turned those big eyes on him.

“I have officially been upgraded from Bebe, then?”

“Just listen,” Minato said, and the smile on Andre’s face slipped a little. “I, uh…”

As quickly as they had come, Minato’s words left him and then he was just standing there like an idiot, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. From outside the door, there were voices and footsteps. One glance at the clock on the wall told them clubs were ending. They were running out of time.

“Um…”

“Are you alright? As I said, anything you have to say…”

“I know,” Minato said sharply, then softer, “I know. It's, uh…”

He took a deep breath, staring at the floor.

This had to be the right thing to do. There were countless books and movies and shows that spouted the same ‘at least he’ll know’ rhetoric about confessing, endings be damned.  Even he had to admit there was something about the years he’d spent alone versus now, all the times he caught himself having fun. Fun with SEES, fun with Andre, fun with everyone, and it was scary. It was terrifying but he was already so deep, there was no going back. This was just another step forward. It had to be.

“You know,” Andre said, “there is nothing for me in France anymore.”

“What?” Minato looked up. While he’d been lost in his own thoughts, Andre had managed to step closer without him noticing. “I mean, I know. That’s what the kimono is for, right?”

“Yes. I love it here. My uncle wishes for me to return, but here in Japan is where I belong. I feel it.”

Minato made a noncommittal noise, rubbing his jaw and avoiding his eyes, even as he sensed Andre moving closer again.

“And Japan is where you are.”

Andre stood before him, so close that all Minato could see was his necktie, which he stared at because it was easier than looking at his mouth, his jaw, or his neck and seeing his Adam’s apple and the slight lines and curves of tendon and muscles and things that made him real, flesh and blood. That close, Minato could smell something sweet. A scent like all the chocolates and cakes they always got from the Sweet Shop. A scent and taste Minato associated with Andre even when they weren’t together, and maybe one that he always would.

Something brushed his fingers and he looked down to see Andre trailing a finger up and down the back of his hand, over his knuckles and fingers, but not taking hold. And then Minato knew exactly what he was doing. Andre was meeting him halfway, easing the burden he knew Minato was trying to take on his own.

That meant Andre knew. Those earlier touches weren’t misunderstandings and everything Minato felt was returned. At least this once, they had been on the same page since the beginning.

“I’m really glad,” Minato said quietly, watching his index finger hook around Andre’s. “When you go, even if it’s for a little while, I…”

“Will you miss me?”

Minato nodded. After a cautious moment he added another finger, and then another until they were holding hands.

“I really like you,” slipped out, easier than he thought it would be, and that light and airy feeling came back. Anxiety had his chest in a vice, but when Andre leaned closer, his words felt like just a simple truth. Maybe it wasn’t all so big. Maybe they had that moment, with Andre’s lips soft against his, and that was what mattered.


End file.
